THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


/ 


NIGHT  ETCHINGS. 


NIGHT  ETCHINGS. 


BY 

A.  R.  G. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

J.  B.   LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 
1893. 


COPYRIGHT,  1892, 

BY 
J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 


PRINTED  BY  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

A  B.vr  AWAKES 9 

A  RUIN  OF  RETROSPECT 17 

ESCAPE 19 

TWILIGHT 22 

"WHEN  THE  TIDE  HAS  EBBED" 23 

DESPAIR 26 

CARISSIMA 28 

AN  ECHO 30 

POSSIBILITY 33 

SEPARATION 35 

THE  OLD  PLACE 36 

CONQUEST 38 

To  A  WILD  LILY 39 

THE  LOST  THREADS 41 

SUGGESTION     44 

5  i* 


6  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

HAUNTED 46 

SELECTION 51 

WHITMAN'S  LAST  TESTIMONY 55 

THE  OWL  RESTS     58 

A  ROSE  WHISPER 61 

FIRE-FLIES 62 

./EOLIAN  ALLEGORY 63 

To  CATHARINE  VAN  NEST 75 

IN  THE  CHURCH  OF  THE  LILIES 78 

ON  THE  CARIBBEAN 83 

A  SIGH  OF  THE  SOUTH  WIND 87 

INSPIRATION 90 

CLOISTER  SHADOWS 94 

TIME 103 

UNCONQUERED 104 

SERENADE 107 

LOVE'S  OATH no 

SONG  SECRET in 

To  THE  NIGHT 113 


PROEM. 

BATS  and  owls,  just  birds  of  night  are  we, 
Yet  something  'tis  if  through  the  dark  we  see. 


A   BAT  AWAKES. 

BY  THE   AMAZON. 

UNDER  low,  drooping  eaves 

Of  dew-touched  leaves 

Hangs  sleeper  strange,  with  pendent  head 

His  pillow  floating  there, 

Soft-toned  Brazilian  air; 

His  hushing  lullaby 

Broad  waters  lapping  by; 

Still,  in  their  breadth  and  depth, 

Great,  in  their  constancy. 

The  wide,  sun-glaring  day 
Has  lulled  him  so  to  sleep, 


IO  A   BAT  AWAKES. 

Shutting  away  the  sky; 

Then  through  the  vampire's  pulse  doth  creep 

The  heavy  drowse  of  tropic's  noon ; 

He  wakes  not  for  the  nearer  rhythm  and  tune 

Of  things  terrestrial : 

To  sights  and  sounds  of  earth  alone, 

By  daylight's  glamour  shown, 

He  shuts  the  eye. 

Let  the  red  warmth  of  cacti  glow, 

But  not  for  him ; 

His  eye  will   slumber  till    this    nearer  world 

grows  dim. 

Let  the  sun-angel's  iridescence  dart, 
While  reigns  the  day, 
Before  all  life  of  color  faints  to  gray ; 
Dazzle  and  dart,  while  yet  she  has  the  light, 


A   BAT  AWAKES.  II 

Coquetting   she,   perchance,    with    some   fond 

suitor's  heart, 
Before    she    folds    her    wings    down    to    the 

night. 

But  when,  beneath  low,  drooping  eaves 

Of  dew-touched  leaves, 

Day  dies  away, 

Melting  from  gray 

Into  the  deep  transparency  of  night, 

The  bat  awakes  to  music  of  the  spheres ; 

To  hint  of  time  out-spun, 

And  life  and  love  to  come; — 

Then   darts   he   forth,  this   flitter-mouse   with 

wings, 
Earth-nature      his,     with     courage     yet     to 

soar; 


12  A   BAT  AWAKES. 

Forth  comes  he,  and  behold !     A  world 
Below,  above,  before, 

That  day  sees  not,  nor  children  of  the  day, 
Soft  creatures !   sleeping  warm,  away ; 
Sleeping, — nor     dreaming    of    the     shadowed 

land 
As    rolls    she    with    the   light,  night-wrecked, 

upon  her  strand; 
While     on     the    Orellana,    silent    unwraps    a 

view 

Making  display  alone  to  owls  and  bats, 
As  upward  lifts  the  curtain,  Southern-starred, 
And  hangs  above  a  world    sweet-steeped    in 

dew. 

Then,  from  low,  drooping  eaves 
Of  aromatic  leaves, 


A   BAT  AWAKES.  13 

The  vampire  comes  again  upon  his  life, — 

A  life  with  moons  and  midnights  rife. 

Tis  his,  the  eye  to  learn 

How  lights  of  Capricorn  can  burn, 

Or  how,  in  scented  flower-urn, 

There  resteth  low 

The  fire-worm's  glow ; 

And  how  broad  seas  of  cotton  blow, 

Like  downs  of  warmth-touched  tropic  snow, 

Beneath  a  June-eyed  moon  : 

A  zenith  moon 

Whose  silver  noon 

Teacheth  to  night  the  purity  of  love; 

Lightening    and   whitening   what   aside   were 

dark; 
Tender,  yet  white  and  high,  the  shades  above. 


14  A   BAT  AWAKES. 

And  so  the  bat  awakes, 

Leaving   day's    world   and    daylight   cares   to 

sleep. 

The  bat  awakes  and  has  his  world  alone. 
Shaded  from  glare,  he  sees  the  better,  far; 
Can   catch   the   beckon    of  some    high,  clear 

star; 

Can  hear,  resounding  near, 
The    interthrilling    murmur    of   each    sphere ; 
His  world  a  world  of  seeing  far,  of  listening 

deep, 
While  others,  blind  to  night,  lie  wrapped  in 

sleep ; 

Nor  knowing  how  night-silvered  waves 
New  symphonies  can  sing, 
Nor  how  from  out  night-jewelled  flowers 
New  sweets  the  airs  can  bring. 


A   BAT  A  WAKES.  1 5 

And  his  the  ear  to  hear 

The  night-bird  weird, 

Or  some  low-curling  wave, 

Where  Xingu  waters  lave 

Their  green-crept,  lavish  banks, 

With  sweet,  insisting  pranks. 

To    hear   night-winds    across   the    still   world 

roam, 
Light-whispering     on      moon-touched      lotos 

bloom, 

Or  murmuring  song  divine 
O'er  some  strong  height  of  pine 
That  reaches,  silver-crested,  out  of  shadows' 

gloom ; 

Or  thrilling  with  its  kiss 
Some  palm  of  royal  grace 
To  sweet,  all-trembling  bliss; 


l6  A   BAT  AWAKES. 

Or  sighing  up  from  far  Atlantic  ways 
Some   softened    note   of   world-filled    Eastern 
days. 

Oh,  would,  from  off  that   far  Atlantic   shore, 
This   constant,  west-blown  wind    might   carry 

some, 
Who,    tired    and     fainting     to    their    being's 

core, 

Would  rest  them  on  the   nights  of  Amazon ; 
Where  peace  drops  down  the  silver  noons, 
And  silence  sings  caressing  monotunes. 


A   RUIN   OF   RETROSPECT. 

THAT  day  that's  gone! 

Away,  way  back  how  faint 'its  gleam! 

How  long  the  shadows  thrown  by  years  that 

intervene ! 
I   peer   back   through   the   dust  and  webs    of 

time; 
The    light    strikes    only  on    a    fragment   here 

and  there, 
Some  slender  point   that   reached   the   higher 

air, 
Leaving  the  picture  but  a  broken  rhyme. 

Only  a  tower  here,  a  gable  there, 

Glimmers  against  the  rays  of  western  sun ; 
17  2* 


1 8  A   RUIN  OF  RETROSPECT. 

So  dense  the  maze  has  intertwined  between 
To-day  and  that  far  day  of  Life  Begun. 
Only  a  broken  line,  a  curve  unfilled, 
A  half-lost  memory  standing  there, 
Like  ruin  of  some  castle  in  the  air. 

I  strain  my  gaze  to  interpenetrate 

The  mists  that  hide   that  which  I  fain  would 

see; 

To  catch  some,  now,  time-faded  ray 
That  fell  upon  my  life  that  sunny  day. 
I  strain  my  eyes  toward  the  lines  now  lost, 
I  listen  for  the  time-blurred  intertone, 
Just  as  a  memory  to  have  again  my  own, — 
But  they  are  gone. 


ESCAPE. 

DARK  drizzles  down  a  Northern  day: 

I  close  my  eyes  upon  the  gloom, 

And  straightway  flies, 

Unerring  as  a  carrier-pigeon  to  its  home, 

My  spirit,  on  a  swifter  wing; 

With  dreary  space  outflown 

It  sits  and  suns  itself 

In  paradise  it  calls  its  own. 

In  that  true  land 

No  mist  can  mar  the  plumage  of  its  wing, 

No  cloud  can  there  unbidden  float, 

No  faint  despair  lies  languishing; 
19 


2O  ESCAPE. 

The  seas  are  silver, 

And   the   sands   and   waves,   and    woods   are 

sunned ; 
While   to   the  water's    edge    grand    trees   are 

marshalled  out, 

And  drip  cool  shades  upon  the  banks  below; 
On  little,  childish  waves  that  play  and  toss, 
And  creep  up  tenderly 
To  coo  and  kiss  upon  the  sands  and  moss. 

Nay,  nay;   no  need  of  winter  days  amid  the 

North, 

When,  freely  as  a  bird,  the  spirit  goeth  forth 
To  sit  among  red  pomegranate-trees, 
And  breathe  soft,  orange-laden  breeze; 
Or  watch  the  swaying  moss 
Before  a  carmine  sunset  wave; 


ESCAPE.  21 

Or  see  the  rose-pink  curlew 

Among  the  rushes  start; 

And    hear    such    notes    as,    on    an    uncaged 

wing, 

The  mocking-bird  can  sing. 
Spirit,  why  need  the  north-winds  cut  thee  so  ? 
Thou  hast  a  South,  perpetual,  sunny : 
Dream,  and  forget  the  snow. 


TWILIGHT. 

I  SEEM  to  see  her  sweet  face  lean, 
Bending  to  me  again,  the  clouds  between, 
Just  in  the  rift  where  glows  the  evening  light. 
In  the  pale  gleam  I  see  her  face 
Tender  as  some  memory  in  a  dream ; 
And  then  I  know  her  presence  there 
Filters  through  the  after-glow: 
I  know  she  is  not  far,  but  near; 
I  know  the  evening  light  can  flow 
As  spirit-thrill,  from  hers  to  mine, 
And  she  can  reach  me,  so. 


22 


"WHEN  THE  TIDE   HAS   EBBED." 

(After  the  water-color  by  George  W.  Harvey.) 
PRELUDE. 

POET- PAINTER  he, 

Who  carries  spirit-thought  within  his  touch, 

Who  catches  spirit-light  upon  his  brush. 

"When  the  tide  has  ebbed," 

And  rocks  lie  bare  and  brown; 

When  gleaming  waves  have  rippled  one  by 
one 

Away;  waves  that  laughed  so  in  the  morn 
ing  sun, 

And  tossed  each  other  in  the  strength  of  life; 
23 


24         "  WHEN  THE   TIDE  HAS  EBBED." 

The  jostling  waves,  with    hope   and    purpose 

rife; 

Or  undulating  soft,  singing  content,  low  runes 
Of  mated  loves  and  scented,  rose-touched 

Junes ; 

The  triumph  in  the  song  of  tide  run  high, 
The  full  completion,  with  no  yearning  sigh, 
The  high-noon  note  of  zenith-life  and  love, — 
These,  when  the  tide  has  ebbed  that  once 

was  there, 
Leave  echoes  only  on  the  brown   rocks  lone 

and  bare. 

Yet  there,  the  slender  stream, 
Low-ebbed  to  death-like  rest, 
Lies  calm  and  white  between 
The  frowning  brown  rocks'  crest 


"  WHEN  THE    TIDE  HAS  EBBED."         2$ 

And  waste  of  desolation. 

Oh,    backward,    backward    to    the    joys    that 

were, 
Yearneth    it    now?    still    stream    with    white 

upon  its  brow. 

Ay,  low.     But  down  upon  its  stillness  so, 
A  deeper,  gladder  peace  can  flow, 
A  light  can  rest,  of  white,  immortal  glow. 

AFTER-TONE. 

But  still  the  picture  stands  unreached 

By  failing  pen  before  its  impress  rare: 

Pure  as  though  seraphs'  eyes  were  bent  above ; 

Glad  as  when,  after  death, 

Surprise  brings  love  to  love. 


DESPAIR. 

THOU  art  cruel,  O  Despair! 

Ay,  grim  and  cold,  the  acme  of  all  evil, 

Picture  of  death  art  thou 

To    him    who    stands    with    hope    upon    his 

brow, 
While    the    warm     sunlight    nestles     on    his 

path, 
His  Future  smiling  backward  to  his  Now. 

Yet  there  are   hearts   to  whom   thy  ministry 

were  fair, 
Hearts    that   would   wed   with   thee   and   die, 

Despair. 

26 


DESPAIR.  27 

After  long  pains  of  flickering  suspense, 

When  torturing  delay  has  given  to  dread  pre 
eminence, 

Thy  firm,  cold  touch  would  be  but  mercy's 
breath, 

Thy  face,  so  cruel  once,  a  gentle  providence. 

Then  come,  Despair,  and  let  the  old  hope  die; 

Release  its  struggling  pains  to  peace, 

That  so  a  new  may  spring: 

Thus,  to  some  cold  despair 

The  heart  a  song  may  bring ; 

A  welcome  for  its  rest 

And  space  to  hope  again. 


CARISSIMA. 

HUSH  !     Let  the  night  be  still, — 
Did  I  hear  it  my  pulse  athrough? 
"  Carissima !" 

Was  it  a  melody  from  moon-touched  leaf? 
An  effluence  from  the  dew  ? 

The  night  stoops  shelteringly ; 

The  silence  seems  some  rhythm  to  hold : 

"  Carissima !" 
Steals  on  the  stillness,  subtly,  deeply  sweet,- 

Is  this  the  world  of  old? 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

"  Carissima,"  that  far-off  night,  he  said ; 
28 


CARISSIMA.  29 

His  eyes  soul-deep,  his  voice  thrilled  full  and 

low: 

Ah,  I  could  float  me  down  the  tides  of  time, 
Drift  gladly  to  the  unknown,  untried  sea, 
Could    I    but   know   some    ghost    of  rapture 

flown 

Would  follow  me, 
And  I  could  hear  again, 
In  the  old  tone, 
Carissima. 


AN   ECHO. 

THOMPSON,  led  by  Tennyson's  dream,* 
Followed  down  the  poet's  stream, 
Fluting  clear  his  own  sweet  note, 
Along  thought-lilied  aisles  to  float. 

And  I,  spell-bound,  yet  far  behind, 

Trace  their  bloom-trail  on  the  wind, 

Catch  echo  of  their  flowing  notes, 

As  smooth  as  rhythms  from  wild-bird  throats ; 

Or  watch  the  shadows  of  rare  dream 
That  haunt  the  borders  of  the  stream ; 

*  In  allusion  to  Tennyson's  "  Brook"  and  Maurice  Thomp 
son's  "  In  the  Haunts  of  Bass  and  Bream." 
30 


AN  ECHO.  3 1 

And,  leaving  care,  I  sun  my  soul 
Where  song-sunned  ripples  softly  troll. 

Dark  things,  like  spectres,  shrink  away 
Where  spring  brooks  sing  their  rondelay ; 
Their  murmurs  fall  like  soft  caress 
From  lips  that  love,  and  fain  would  bless; 

And  sweetly,  softly  croons  the  stream, 
As  mothers  sing  o'er  infants'  dream ; 
The  song  a  medium,  showing  true 
Love's  eternal  presence  through. 

I  linger  where  the  silent  brook 
Stops  to  dream  in  sylvan  nook, 
Then  purling,  purling  flows  along, 
With  fern  and  woodbine  in  its  song. 


32  AN  ECHO. 

World-tired,  I  wander  down  the  stream, 
Old  echoes  reach  me  through  its  dream, 
While  welleth  in  my  heart  the  sigh, 
"  Loves  are  only  born  to  die ;" 

And,  with  a  sorrow  unconfessed, 
I  turn  me  to  the  brook  for  rest, 
And  follow  there,  to  sun  my  soul 
Where  song-sunned  waters  softly  troll. 

Where,  with  gleam  and  golden  fleck, 
Crooning,  crooning,  sings  the  beck 
The  sweet,  old  resurrection  song, 
"Love's  not  dead,  but  sleepeth  long." 

Crooning,  "  Only  sleepeth,  sleepeth  ; 
Love's  not  dead, — just  sleepeth." 


POSSIBILITY. 

IT  was   out  of  darkness  to  some   hazy  glad 
ness, 

An  Indian  Summer  dream ; 
I  only  knew  the  days  held  less  of  sadness, 

And  I  was  drifting  on  a  sunnier  stream. 

I  only  knew  above  the  cloud  of  darkness 
Your  soul  had  risen  like  an  Eastern  sun, 

Above  a  sea,  gray-toned  and  colorless, 

Had  risen  to  blow  fresh    mornings  one  by 
one 

Across  the  waves,  that  lay  so  sullen  and  so 
gray; 

I  only  felt  your  spirit,  like  the  sunrise, 
33 


34  POSSIBILITY, 

Fall  on  my  heart  one  darksome  day, 

And    bring    a    blossom    up    to    bask    and 
idolize. 

Where   speaks   your  voice   there  may  be  ice 

and  snow ; 
I  know  it  not, — I  feel  the  warmth  of  tropic 

clime, 
Where,  through  the  blooms,  the  south  winds 

blow, 
And  carry  to  some  joy  its  rhyme. 

And  if  you  close  your  eyes  upon  me  now, 
And  if  your  voice  shall  cease  to  speak  for 
me  its  thrill, 

That  it  has  been,  could  be,  I  yet  shall  know, 
Nor  cease  to  feel  its  sun  upon  me  still. 


SEPARATION. 

GONE!     But  evermore  will  roll, 

Through  every  strong  and  tender  chord  I 

hear, 
The  touch  and  cadence  of  his  soul, 

Thrilling  all  melody  with  tone  more  deep 
and  clear. 

And  yet  for  evermore  will  fall, 

In  every  strain  of  sweetness  on  my  heart, 
A  low,  dull  cry  of  loss  through  all, 

Touching  that  threnody  where  love  and 
life  must  part. 

35 


THE   OLD   PLACE. 

YES,  the  old  place,  just  the  same, 

The  flickering  shade  of  leafage  on  the  grass, 

Broad,  sunspread  hills  beyond ; 

Perhaps  their  light  a  little  colder  grown, 

Some  touch  of  glory  flown ; 

And  yet,  though  keen,  fond  eyes  may  search 

with  care, 
No  change  substantial  showeth  there. 

Yes,  the  old  place,  just  the  same, 

The  flickering  shade  of  leafage  on  the  grass, 

The  little  purling  stream ; 

But  now  its  song  a  murmur,  only,  seems, 

A  minor  of  old  dreams ; 
36 


THE   OLD  PLACE.  37 

Sighing,  to  ears  that  long  remember  well, 
A  lurking  echo  of  some  old-time  spell. 

Yes,  the  old  place,  just  the  same, 

The  flickering  shade  of  leafage  on  the  grass ; 

The  stile  we  used  to  pass; 

Wild  notes  of  free-winged  birds  all  undis 
turbed  ; 

The  old,  old  place,  familiar-sweet,  yet 
strange. 

I  linger,  linger  with  the  sun  and  shades, 

With  the  old  sights  and  sounds  that  linger 
here; 

A  voice  seems  just  to  fall  upon  my  ear, 

A  subtile  presence  in  the  silent  air, 

Pervading  all,  a  face  that  once  was  there. 


CONQUEST. 

NOT  much  of  love  had  you  said, 

But  its  sweets,  in  your  words  so  rare, 

I  had  traced,  as  we  trace  hid  flowers, 
By  the  perfume  on  the  air. 

And  when  I  stooped  to  your  face, 
Where  the  aspen  quivered  down, 

My  lips  in  a  nested  kiss, 
I  felt  the  conqueror's  crown. 

I  knew  my  valley  of  bliss 

A  seraphim-guarded  glen, 
And  the  blossoms  that  were  mine 

Were  lost  to  all  other  men. 
38 


TO   A   WILD   LILY. 

O  LILY  !  with  tall  and  slender  stem, 

And  scarlet,  against  the  wood's  dark  hem, — 

Thus    bloomed    you    once     in    the    years 

agone, 
Steeped  in  summer  and  sunshine, 

As  my  heart  was  steeped  in  song. 

Now,  lily  born  in  the  wildwood, 

The  years  have  travelled  their  ways; 

To-day  you  stand  strange  and  rootless 
In  the  pool  of  a  Parian  vase ; 

Beside  you,  in  chalice  of  silver, 

Rare  roses  a  queen  might  praise. 
39 


4O  TO  A    WILD  LILY. 

But  my  eyes  turn  back  to  you,  lily, 
Again  and  again  to  your  face; 
And  the  magnet  thus  to  draw  me, 

Is  it  orange-scarlet  and  gold? 
Or,  in  your  urn  of  free-born  grace, 

Is  it  the  lost  day  that  you  hold  ? 


THE   LOST  THREADS. 

How,  through  our  lives,  the  lines  are  woven 

in  and  out ! 
How,     through     rare     fabrics,     threads     are 

brought  and  lost  to  view! 
The  fairest  seem  the  briefest. 
The   gold    glints    only  here   and   there    upon 

the  best  brocade, 

And  as  we  live  our  loves  drop  out. 
Lost  threads,  they  seem, 
And   memory  backward  turns  to  catch   their 

gleam. 
But  in  the  purple  haze 

41  4* 


42  THE  LOST  THREADS. 

Where    sets    the   sun,   and   some    far    future 

lies, 
Half  gleaming  through,  the  stars  are  in  the 

skies ; 

And  lying  just  beyond  our  mortal  ken, 
The  old,  lost  lights  will   gleam  for  us  again. 
Not  lost  were  they, 
Only  as   a   child,  failing   to    find   its   mother, 

calls  her  lost. 
Yet    hid,    the     loves,    so    many    those    who 

through  some  change, 
Some    chance   of  life — or   death — have   fallen 

away: 

But  there,  beyond  the  sunset  and  the  haze, 
There   shall   we   find  them,  find   them   every 

one; 
The  old,  lost  threads, — 


THE  LOST  THREADS.  43 

Again  to  weave  themselves  into  our  lives; 
For  the  lost  lapse 

Making  the  pattern  but  the  fairer  far, 
Like   sky  of  night, — dark   space,  and   then  a 
jewelled  star. 


SUGGESTION. 

A  BREATH  of  sandal  spice  from  off  her  fan, 

While  she  at  distance  stands ; 
A  dainty,  rustling  robe  I  dare  not  touch; 

Forbidden  fruit,  her  hands. 

Fair  lips  that  smile  from  isolated  heights; 

Half-tender  words,  and  rare; 
Sometimes  a  half-concealed,  softened  flash, 

Then  eyelids  white  droop  there. 

Sometimes  a  graceful,  generous  thought  for 
me; 

Graceful,  but  only  kind ; 
Sometimes  a  half-caught  cadence  of  her  voice 

Seems  holding  sweets  behind. 

44 


SUGGESTION.  45 

Ah,   falsehood   fair,  when   hope   comes   whis 
pering  soft 

That  buds  like  this  can  last: 
The    blossom    blooms, — a    moment's    rapture 

rare, 

And    then — the    petals    fade — the    bliss    is 
past. 


HAUNTED. 

SISTER   CELESTE  (the  priests   had   called   her 

saint, 

So  high  she  dwelt  above  all  earthly  taint) 
Sat  in  her  convent  tower  above  the  sea, 
Where  sweeps   the  tide  on  rock-bound    Nor- 

mandie. 

Her  eyes,  where  dwelt  a  golden-hazel  dream, 
Looked  off  across  the  waters'  sunset  gleam ; 
Eyes  of  still  light,  serenely  calm  their  ray, 
As  looking  to  some  heavenward-lying  day. 

Taught    only   of   the    church    and    churchly 
lore, 

This  virgin  saint  had  vowed  for  evermore 
46 


HAUNTED.  47 

To  shun  all  worldly  life,  and  only  raise 
The  love-light  of  her  eyes  to  heaven's  praise. 

Peaceful  had  been  her  tower  above  the  sea, 
With  naught  to  ruffle  each  day's  rosary; 
But,  when   she   turned   toward   her  window's 

height 
To  look  across  the  waters'  western  light, 

One  figure  stood  against  the  paling  skies, 
Always  a  grim,  dark  cross,  in  Roman-wise. 
"Tis   well,"   she   sighed,  "the   bride   of  this 

to  be 
And  enter  heaven  saintly  pure  and  free." 

Then   turned   she  to  her  cell's  white  wall  to 

pray 
Before  some  shrine  of  saint,  or  taper's  ray. 


48  HAUNTED. 

So  passed  in  peace  the  days  of  Saint  Celeste, 
Haunted  alone  by  that  still  cross  against  the 
West. 

Then,    on    a    day,    a    flood    of    bloom-fresh 

spring 
Burst  through   her  window  on  a  May-breeze 

wing, 

And,  leaning,  on  a  bough  beneath 
She   saw  a   nested   bird,  amid   the   blossoms' 

wreath ; 

And  singing,  swaying,  on  another  spray, 

Its  mate,  life-full,  love-free,  among  the  May. 

The  crucifix  seemed  hanging  in  the  far-off 
haze, — 

She  tried  to  cross  herself  as  in  the  yester 
days. 


HAUNTED.  49 

Off  on  the  path  below,  with  measured  tread, 
There    paced    a    priest,    and    told    his    beads 

with  bared  head. 

How  broad  and  firm  his  strength  of  height ! 
What  tender  grace  his  lips'  sweet  light ! 

The    priest    looked    up, — and    Saint    Celeste 

looked  down, — 

His  gray  eyes  met  the  hazel  dream  of  hers, — 
The    old,    old     story    in     one     glance!     and 

then, — 
Another  story,  old  and  sad,  told  once  again. 

Out  on  the  tree  the  apple  blossoms  fade, 
The  bird's  song  dies  away  toward  the  South, 
And  for  a  priest  and  nun 
One  moment  of  the  past  holds  all  of  life. 


50  HAUNTED. 

One  moment, — 

Just  a  flash-light  of  a  morn  in  May, 

A  tree  with  birds  and  bloom, 

A  tower, 

Fair  eyes  of  golden-hazel  dream, 

Deep  eyes  of  gray: — 

And  then  a  clang  of  convent  bell, 

The  swift  dream's  knell. 

Day  by  day  a   broad   sea   stretching   to    the 

West, 

Day  by  day  its  color  lifeless  gray, 
And  haunted  always  by  a  Roman  cross, 
And  eyes  that  turn  away. 


SELECTION. 

O  PAST  so  sweet ! 

So  sure  in  thy  retreat ! 

What  would  I  beg  from  thee? 

What   gift   from  out   thy  hoard   to   throw  to 

me? 

Surely  thou  mockest  me. 
Ah,  Past !  soft  sailing  there, 
Like  island  floating  fair 
In  some  far,  amber  air; 
Like  bubble  from^a  crystal  space  out-blown, 
Floating    with    such    a    witching    glow    and 

grace, 

Yet  the  unreachable  so  haloing  thy  face 
Si 


52  SELECTION. 

That    I    can    scarce    believe    thee    once    my 

own; 

I  pray,  but  as  to  god  on  throne  of  stone ; 
Deaf,    pagan    god,    who    heeds    not    to    my 

moan; 

One  gift  so  sweet,  yet  small,  I  ask  of  thee : 
Were  it   too  much   that  this   should   granted 

be? 

Looking  thy  jewels  o'er,  I  only  ask, 
Chosen  from  out  the  rubies  of  thy  casque, 
From    out   the   days  with  warmth   and   roses 

red, 

And  whispers  of  true  passion  overspread ; 
I  only  ask : 
From  out  thy  pearls  strung  white  on  strands 

of  peace, 


SELECTION.  53 

(Days  where   the   fresh   song-mornings   never 

9 

cease ;) 
From  out  thy  sapphires  with  their  flames  of 

blue, 
(Days   when   thy   heart   beat   high,   thy  eyes 

shone  true;) 
From    out   thy  opals  with   their    unterrestrial 

gleam, 
(Days    when    to    live    meant    only    days    to 

dream ;) 

From  out  thy  beryls,  daintiest  jewel  there, 
(Like  hint  of  love  to  come   breathed  on  the 

air;) 
Rare   days,   crownecf  high  with   conquest   all 

unsought, 

Wearing  proud   coronet  with  triumphs  inter- 
wrought, 


54  SELECTION. 

I  bow  before  thee  as  to  liege  and  king, 
And  one  small  prayer  from   out  my  heart  I 

bring : 
O   Past !    I   only,   all   thy  treasures   gleaming 

there, 
Pray  for  that  touch  again  upon  my  hair. 


WHITMAN'S   LAST  TESTIMONY. 

HIGH  faith  the  bard  had  spoken, 
Strong  hope  his  voice  had  sung, 

And  brave  as  death  of  warrior 
His  last  life-notes  had  rung. 

For  truth  his  lips  had  struggled, 

And  lived  he  to  his  creed; 
Nor  weak  conservatism 

Held  him  from  higher  deed. 

•^ 

Fearless, — his  life  lived  truly, — 

His  heart  and  brain  his  own, — 
Fitting,  to  him  was  given 

That  after-wraith,  night  shown. 

55 


56  WHITMAN'S  LAST  TESTIMONY. 

He  who  had  peered  all  frankly, 
With  wistful  eyes  so  brave, 

Into  the  deepening  shadows 

That  reached  him  from  the  grave; 

Claiming  never  the  unknown, 
Content  alone  with  truth, 

Yet  trust  and  faith  unsullied, 
The  grander,  without  proof; 

Yes,  fitting  it  was  given 
To  soul  like  his  to  show 

A  glimpse  of  the  immortal 
To  mortal  left  below. 

The  spirit-face  of  Whitman, 
Chiselled  in  cloud-like  white, 


WHITMAN'S  LAST  TESTIMONY.  $? 

Floating  before  the  stranger 
Against  the  shield  of  night; 

Unknown,  but  after,  proven, 
A  sculpture  stronger  stands 

Than  the  poets  old  in  marble 
Dug  from  Carrara's  strands : 

For,  in  the  thought  Pantheon, 
This  face — beyond  its  fade — 

Stands  firmer  than  stone  statues 
Of  abbeys'  classic  shade. 


THE   OWL   RESTS. 

I    WATCHED    through    the    measures    of    the 

night, 

I  saw  the  pale,  weird  Northern  Light 
Athwart  the  blackness  flicker  up 
And  fade  and  fail. 
I  saw  the  lights  of  earth 
Glare  and  stare  for  full  their  worth ; 
Long  in  the  dark 
Glittered  their  lurid  spark; 
I    smiled    me    then,    atween     the     sheltering 

boughs: 
"  Shine    on,    shine    on,    in    all    thy   haunting 

dimness, 

58 


THE    OWL   RESTS.  59 

Sparks  of  earth, 

Shine  on,  thy  life  is  short,  I  know  thy  birth." 

My  eyes  strained  wide,  I  waited  patiently 

The  sheer,  unsullied  night  to  see; 

The  night  unmarred 

And  silver-starred. 

Hard  by  me,  in  the  dell, 

Swift  waters  kissed  the  silent  spell, 

The  while  the  earth  in  its  own  shade 

Sought  shelter  from  the  day ; 

And  darkness,  brooding  oversale  and  croft, 

Sat  timely  down,  with  feathers  soft. 

Now,  late,  the  lurid  earth-lights  fade  away; 

Through  the  clear  dark  I  see  the  sights, 

I  hear  the  sounds, 

Are  seen  not,  heard  not  in  the  day. 


60  THE   OWL  RESTS. 

Earth's  transitories  lie,  dark-wrapt  away; 
And  while  the  stars  smile  down, 
The  strong,  clear  stars, 
Under  the  night's  high  crest 
I  find  me,  rest. 


A   ROSE  WHISPER. 

A  CHALICE  of  perfume 
I  hold  to  the  air;' 

And  blow  the  winds  here, 
Or  blow  the  winds  there, 

Whether  East  or  West, 

Some  one  shall  be  blest. 

r 


61 


FIRE-FLIES. 

SOFT  twinkle  they,  ephemerally, 
Dotting  the  hour  'twixt  night  and  day, 
Sprinkling  the  gloaming  gray 
With  fire  that  burns  not,  nor  illuminates 

For  any  space  around: 

• 
Yet  brave,  beneath  the  high,  fair  stars 

Their  own  to  hold,  however  slight  it  be; 
Comparing  neither  great  nor  small, 
But  giving  of  what  heaven  gave  them,  all. 
Perchance,  amid  the  garden's  scented  gloom, 
The    unconscious    rose    and    lily   give    them 

room; 
And  they,  free-flitting  in  all-thoughtless  grace, 

May  light  some  rose  or  lily's  fading  face. 
62 


ALLEGORY. 

SILVER-SHOT  stood  the  forest 
With  darts  from  Dian's  bow, 

While  winds  of  the  soft  ^Egean 
Slumbered  faint,  slumbered  low, 

In  the  silver,  shifting  cradles 
Of  the  Orient's  classic  sea; 

Nestling  soft  as  a  bird  can  rest 
In  its  swaying  nest  on  the  tree. 

And  Thetis,  sandalled  in  silver, 

Passing  that  way,  I  ween, 
Touched  to  a  gentle  rock,  the  waves, 

• 

Though  never  her  foot  was  seen. 
63 


64  AEOLIAN  ALLEGORY. 

But  the  track  of  her  tinselled  slipper 
Left  the  shimmering  crests  aglow, 

While  over  Diana's  forest 

Fell  the  flame  of  her  pale  flambeau. 

And  woods  and  sea  seemed  to  listen, 
Soft-touched  by  the  silvery  white, 

To  lie  and  look  upward  in  silence 
And  listen  for  songs  from  the  night. 

And  Dian's  forest,  and  Thetis'  sea 
Looked  each  to  its  goddess  own, 

To  wake  the  chord  of  life's  symphony, 
The  True,  that  the  earth  shall  zone. 

Then  hark !     Through   the   leaves    a  whisper 

stirs, 
A  song  sweeps  over  the  seas; 


&OLIAN  ALLEGORY.  65 

Eolus,  the  free,  has  wandered  that  way, 
With  his  all-encircling  breeze. 

He  whispers  the  ^Egean  Sea 

Some  tale  of  Eastern  spice ; 
He  hums  soft  rondels  o'er  and  o'er, 

Caught  up  in  Paradise. 

He  finds  his  harp  already  strung 

Where'er  his  feet  may  roam, 
His  instrument  wide  as  nature, 

The  universe  his  home. 

His  lyre  may  take  the  shape  of  a  leaf, 
'Twill  breathe  him  a  life-tone  true, 

Or  the  surging  wave  may  yield  to  his  touch, 
Its  rhythm  old,  yet  new. 


66  AEOLIAN  ALLEGORY. 

He  knows  the  East,  he  knows  the  West, 

The  varying  zones  are  his; 
The  poles  with  their  snow  and  ice  for  crest ; 

The  tropic  his  garden  is. 

He  leans  his  ear  to  heart  of  palm, 
The  throb  he  hears  is  rich  and  warm ; 

But  his  soul  fails  not  to  catch  an  accord 
In  the  battle-cry  of  Northern  storm. 

Ay,  true  cosmopolite,  he  roves 
With  spirit  strong,  perception  free; 

He  thrills  alike  to  myrtle  groves, 
Or  lights  on  polar  sea. 

Secrets  of  pines  are  his,  scent-blown ; 

He  catches  the  hint  in  the  sea-shell's  tone, 


AEOLIAN  ALLEGORY.  67 

Or  sweeps  the  withered  grass  of  a  grave 
And  grieves  with  the  heart  that's  alone. 

He  carries  the  dreams  of  violet  beds 
In  through  the  curtained  window  there, 

And  wafts  away  some  words  that  are  said, 
And  it  matters  not  whether  the  prayer 

Is  mingled  with  Mongolian  tears 

c 
That  drop  upon  a  wasted  child, 

Or  if  some  Christian  mother's  fears 
Breathe  out  her  cry,  unreconciled. 

And  over  wild  Atlantic  ways, 

In  the  Red-man's  Sunset  Land, 
He  mingles  with  the  pulsing  life 

His  strong,  free  breath  has  fanned. 


68  &OLIAN  ALLEGORY. 

He  floats  wild  Alabamian  songs 
Across  the  cotton-snow  and  rice, 

And  hums  sweet  snatches  o'er  and  o'er 
Caught  up  in  Paradise. 

True  to  his  catholicity, 

His  touch  can  feel  the  same  heart-beat 
In  classic  dream  of  Thessaly 

Or  cloistered  monk's  retreat. 

Roaming  through  labyrinthian  ways 

Among  ^Egean  isles, 
He  croons  some  dream  to  sleep  again, 

So  soft  his  voice  beguiles : 

And  whispers  to  the  shores  of  Thrace 
Of  clove-bloom  on  the  Isles  of  Spice ; 


&OLIAN  ALLEGOR  Y.  69 

Crooning  soft  rondels  o'er  and  o'er, 
Caught  up  in  Paradise. 

And  on  the  strands  of  Mitylene, 
Where  Sappho  sang  her  passion-fire, 

His  faint  night-chords  are  echoing 
On  her  deserted  lyre ; 

Or  under  moon  of  Thessaly 

He  breathes  some  sighing  serenade; 

Then  bugles  down  a  leaf-stripped  vale 
His  wild  fanfaronade. 

Or  marshals  from  the  west  and  north, 
From  steppe  and  glacier  bringeth  forth, 

Forces  of  high,  resistless  will 

That  hint  to  man  heaven's  high  "  Be  still." 


70  AEOLIAN  ALLEGORY. 

Ay,  universal,  touching  all, 

Master  of  Nature's   varied  harp, 

He  hears  the  full,  rich  chord  of  Life ; 
No  string  at  variance  or  strife. 

Rifling  bloom  from  apple-boughs, 
He  scatters  hope  with  lavish  hand ; 

The  bloom  may  fall,  the  rose-tint  fade, 
But  back  of  these  the  fruit  shall  stand. 

For  him  Earth  rings  a  symphony 

In  tune  with  key-note  of  the  spheres; 

For  her  he  sees  the  grand  "To  Be," 
Though  still  in  travail,  oft  with  tears. 

(Ay,  tears  !     Fine,  tender  harmony. 

What  gift  so  sweet  the  earth  has  found  ? 


AEOLIAN  ALLEGORY. 

Could  angel  give  more  royally 
Than  tear  upon  another's  wound?) 

He  gathers  blending  threads  of  life 
Across  the  wide  creation's  loom ; 

He  sees  the  pattern  woven  true 

With  a  life  and  love  and  worship  One. 

In  the  mingled,  mystic  murmurs 

Of  the  Arathusian  fount, 
He  hears  the  orisons  of  Rome 

As  breath  of  Olymp's  Mount. 

The  great,  all-rising  spirit-sap, 

The  strong  bud-burst  of  life, 
Is  thrilled  to  him  from  blossom's  breath 

Or  from  some  wrestling  strife. 


72  AEOLIAN  ALLEGORY. 

He  dreams,  though  orange  blossoms  for  ter 
restrial  bride, 

The  lily  flowers  for  one 
No  less  a  bride,  although  the  bloom 

Wreathes  altar  called  a  tomb. 

He    breathes    his    thought    and  strikes   some 

life  afire, 
Or  croons   from  out   his  heart  some   sweet 

desire, 
Some    dream    of  his    that   will    not    die    nor 

faint, 

Wreathed    with     forget-me-nots     upon    his 
lyre. 

He  dreams, — and  sighs  across   some  Western 

sea 
A  breath  of  wasted  spice, 


AEOLIAN  ALLEGORY.  73 

Yet  whispers  still  his  rondel  o'er, 
Caught  up  in  Paradise. 

Or  in  some  crypt  of  Italy 

He  chants  above  the  patient  dead 

A  note  of  resurrection-life, 

An  Easter  song-bloom  o'er  them  spread. 

Nay, — not  resurrection ;  Life  is  one ; 

We  rise  not,  for  we  never  fall; 
Not  one  heart-beat  of  time  is  lost, 

For  Life  is  "Lord  of  All." 

He  hears  no  words,  "  Come,  worship  me," 

But  "Live  toward  the  Light:" 
He  bends  his  knee  to  pure  and  free, 

In  all  creeds  finding  Right. 


74  AEOLIAN  ALLEGORY. 

He  plays  upon  each  string  that's  strung, 

His  touch  with  each  in  tune; 
Life  the  one  theme,  on  ice-chilled  stream 

Or  perfumed  bud  of  June. 

Then  sing  me  thy  song  of  Life,  O  Wind  ! 

Of  a  deathless  essence  strong 
And  free  and  wide  as  all  living  things ; 

I  keep  with  thy  note  along. 

The  paean  rises,  "  Life — Life ! 

There  is  no  death — no  long  despair; 
Life — Love — Growth — Light, — 

These,  quiver  all  the  air." 

****** 

Diana  may  reign  in  her  forest; 

Thetis  may  sovereign  her  sea; 
But  I,  to  the  God  that  embraces  all 

Do  I  bow  and  bend  my  knee. 


TO  CATHARINE  VAN  NEST. 

ARE  you  out  beyond  the  starlight, 
Sweet  Catharine  Van  Nest? 

Lies  it  in  space  so  far  remote, 
That  region  of  the  blest  ? 

Do  you  find  there  earth-born  flowers, 
Oh,  saint  of  blooms  below  ? 

Do  blossom  spirits  breathe  on  thee 
From  fields  of  long  ago  ? 

'Tis  not  upon  the  walks  of  gold 

I  see  thy  lingering  feet, 
75 


76  TO   CATHARINE   VAN  NEST. 

But  straying  out  some  flowery  way 
Beyond  the  beaten  street. 

There,  where  the  birds  are  singing  thee 

Some  old-time  note  of  June, 
And  bees  among  the  hanging  buds 

Hum  a  familiar  rune: 

There,  among  by-ways  strewn  with  grace, 

By-ways  so  like  thine  own, 
Perchance  thou  listenest,  through  the  space, 

To  catch  some  lost  earth-tone. 

'Tis  not  amid  the  gold-crowned  throng 

I  look  to  see  thy  face, 
But  up  some  violet-odored  path 

My  heart  thy  steps  will  trace; 


TO    CATHARINE    VAN  NEST. 

And  Memory,  following  by  old  ways, 
Ways  that  she  knoweth  best, 

Will  meet  thee  there  among  the  flowers, 
Sweet  Catharine  Van  Nest. 


7* 


IN  THE  CHURCH  OF  THE  LILIES. 
STANDS  it  as  mirage  in  the  air, 
But  spirit  forms  its  structure  there; 

And  real  this,  perchance,  as  stone, 
If  rock  or  thought  must  stand  alone. 

Its  colors  gleam  in  green  and  white, 
Symbols  of  growth,  of  blooms  of  light. 

Above  the  door  faint  lilies  twine, 
And  drop  soft  bells  like  columbine. 


Tall,  slender  spires  reach  toward  the  sky, 

Like  shoots  of  life  by  light  drawn  high ; 
78 


IN  THE   CHURCH  OF   THE  LILIES.         79 

And  ivy  clings  about  the  place 

As  loving  thought  to  some  lost  face. 

By  day,  within,  the  sun  flows  through 
Long  windows  of  deep,  mellow  hue, 

And  a  soft  glory  of  white  light 

Falls  from  the  ceiling's  vaulted  height, 

Drops  down  within  the  chancel  rail 
On  carven  lilies  tall  and  pale: 

Lilies  that  round  a  chalice  stand 
Of  chiselled  onyx,  deftly  planned, 

Holding  within  the  silence  there 

The  high,  white  light  from  heaven's  air. 


8O        IN  THE   CHURCH  OF  THE  LILIES. 

On  nights  when  stars  are  well  outshone, 
And  peerless  reigns  the  moon  alone, 

And  drops  a  ray  divinely  white 
Into  the  chancel's  lone,  still  night, 

One  worshipper  steals  there  to  kneel, 
Strong  doors,  and  barred,  to  her  unreal; 

Nor  make  they  e'en  resistance  slight 
To  the  strong  power  of  her  love's  might. 

Before  the  moon-touched  lilies'  grace 
She  kneels,  with  rapture  in  her  face ; 

For  in  the  dim  night-chancel  there, 
Above  the  lilies  pure  and  rare, 


IN  THE   CHURCH  OF  THE  LILIES.         8 1 

By  sweet  affinity  seems  drawn 
A  presence  fair  as  early  dawn; 

A  child's  lost  face,  so  saintly  fair, 
Shows  through  the  consecrated  air. 

And  when  the  strange  world  knoweth  not, 
The  earth-soul  oft  will  enter  there, 

Through  the  doors  so  barred  and  strong; 
She  worships  not  amid  the  throng. 

And  if  she  carry  a  lost  love 

Within  her  heart  while  kneeling  where 

That  lost  face  seems  to  touch  her  own; 
And  if  against  her  cheek  seems  blown, 


82        IN  THE  CHURCH  OF  THE  LILIES. 

All  in  the  stillness  of  the  place, 
A  ringlet  from  that  angel  face, 

The  touch  so  light,  the  gleam  so  gold, 
As  in  those  long-gone  days  of  old, 

Till  she,  forgetting  all  else  there, 
Kneels  only  to  that  vision  fair; 

Yet  he  who  spake  on  Orient's  breeze 
The  music,  "  If  ye  love  not  these," 

Will  bend  above,  and  gather  there 
Her  love,  even  as  heaven-sent  prayer. 


ON   THE   CARIBBEAN. 
O  CARIBBEAN  !  rich  in  sun  and  shells  ! 
Full    soft    and    warm    thy    waters    kiss    thy 

strands ; 
And  billowed  o'er  with  bloom  and  palm,  thy 

sunny  lands ; 

Thy  days  thrilled  through  with  song-dreams; 
Thy  nights  afloat  in  zephyrs  silver-blown; 
Thy  passion-speech    borne    out    on  perfumed 

breeze ; 

And  flower-breath,  and  spice,  thy  only  sighs, 
Beneath   thy  tender,  bending,  love-enraptured 

skies. 

And  in  thy  soft  and  scent-fanned  tropic  night 
Thy  Lorelei  comes  out  and  sings  bewitching 

strains, 

83 


84  ON  THE   CARIBBEAN. 

That  charm  not  down  to  realms  beneath, 

But  only  up,  from   darkness  and  from    pains. 

Her  gold  hair  floating  on  the  waves'  white 
wreath, 

Sings  she  some  song  all  soft, 

And  rich  with  warmth  and  color  Carib 
bean, 

Yet  clear,  and  true  and  pure 

As  caught  from  out  the  empyrean. 

Fine  flutes  the  note 

From  out  her  charmed  throat, 

And  on  that  silver,  southern  sea 

I  see,  again,  a  boat 

Glide  darkly  out  upon  the  silver  sheen, 

And  old  love-bells, 

That  memory  tells, 

Float  out  again  across  the  Caribbean. 


ON  THE   CARIBBEAN.  85 

0  Caribbean !  warm  thy  waters  wave, 

And   throw  soft   kisses  while   thy  stars   bend 

down ; 

Bend  leal  and  true  above, 
And    light    up   as    can   light   strong   eyes    of 

love. 

And  there,  between  the  silver  sky  and  sea, 
Where    I    can    hear,    still     drifted     down    to 

me 

The  echo  of  an  old  love-note ; 
There,  on  the  glistening  night, 
My  boat  afloat, 

1  still  can  lie  in  dreams; 

Nor  yet  alone  my  spirit  seems; 
We  two  float  there,  in  silver  dream, 
Upon  the  moon-white  waves 

Infiltered  by  the  soft  Gulf-stream. 
8 


86  ON  THE   CARIBBEAN. 

0  Caribbean !  on  your  soft,  warm  waves 
You  rock  old  memories  that  will  not  sleep; 
Year  after  year  you  rock  your  cradle, 
Sing  your  rhyme; 

But  memory  will  wake, 

To  dream  or  weep, 

Though  the  dead  sleep. 

Here,  cradled  on  this  soft,  enraptured  night, 

With  years  behind  to  hush  an  anguish  down, 

1  float;    and   nearer   seems   the   forward  than 

the  backward  shore: 
So  can  I  drift  and  dream, — 
Such  memory  behind, 
And,  gleaming   like    a   haven    true   across   a 

phantom  night, 
Such  hope  before. 


A   SIGH   OF  THE  SOUTH   WIND. 

BECAUSE  I  had  no  crystal  snow, 

No  flower  such  as  ice-winds  blow, 

No  cool,  crisp  airs  that  fan  away  the  sun, 

No  tonic  like  a  philter  of  strong  life 

That   fills   the   veins  with   hope   and   purpose 

rife, 

They  carried  her  away,  the  sweet,  frail  thing, 
And   down   my  orange  vale  I  sob, — I  cannot 

sing. 

I  weep  away  my  blossoms  to  the  earth, 
And   draw   dark   veils   between    me   and   the 
moon; 

I  cannot  see  its  silver  noon 
87 


88  A   SIGH  OF  THE  SOUTH  WIND. 

So  glad  and  fair  all  things  upon 

When  she  is  gone. 

I  rove  among  the  citron-trees 

Like  some  faint  ghost  of  other  breeze, 

Nor  dally  over  sweetest  bloom, 

Nor  trifle  with  the  tasselled  broom, 

But  sigh  and  sigh  along  my  southern  sea 

Because  all  dead  life  seems  to  me. 

I  linger  where  the  cypress  shade 

Haunts  some  deserted  everglade; 

I  waste  my  bard-sung  perfume  on  the  air 

With  all  the  profligacy  of  despair. 

Then  rise  I,  in  some  southern  night, 

My     sweets     all     freshened     by     the     silent 

dew, 
And  blow  and  blow,  against  all  hope, 


A    SIGH  OF  THE  SOUTH  WIND.  89 

Toward  the  cold  stars  of  the  North. 

0  Love !  but   catch   a   scented  breath   across 

the  snow 
And  know 

1  blow  caress  to  you. 


8* 


INSPIRATION. 

IF  I  were  in  that  other  world, — 

0  Love  of  mine  so  lost  and  yet  not  dead! — 

1  might  be  nearer  to  thee,  so; 

Thou  from  whom  my  higher,  truer  life  is  fed. 

Perhaps  my  phosphorescent  form  might  be, 

Through  thy  still  mortal  veil,  invisible  to  thee ; 

Perhaps  my  ether  voice 

So  faint  would  vibrate  on  this  heavier  air 

That  thou  wouldst  yet  unconscious  be, 

Nor  dream  that  thou  wert  where 

One,  now  long  forgot,  wert  calling  thee. 

Yet  now,  though  far, 

I  can  but  follow  thee, 
90 


INSPIRA  TION.  9 1 

As  sun  compels  a  star; 

And  when  my  purest  thought  within  me  rise, 

I  trace  it  to  remembered   glory  of  thy  eyes  ; 

And  I  would  take  the  spirit-form, 

And  follow  where 

Thy  presence  thrills  and   consecrates   the  air. 

Tis  not  that,  spirit-blown, 

Some  effluence  might  flow  from  me  to  thee; 

'Tis  not  that  I  might  better  so  thy  spirit  fill; 

But  I,  in  spite  of  pain, 

Would  stand  anear  and  learn  thee  still. 

From  off  thy  heights  would  blow 
Again  the  bracing  purity  of  Alpine  snow, 
Where  yet  such  grace  as  thine 
Can  wreathe  and  twine, 


92  INSPIRA  TION. 

And    blossom    from    the     crests    of    highest 

moods, 

As  Edelweiss  can  fringe  its  altitudes; 
And  not  all  cold  because  so  high : 
The  sun  falls  on  the  Alpine  snow 
With  rarer  glow 
Than    colors    baser    things    within    the    vale 

below : 
The  red  warmth  of  the  sand  shows  murk  and 

weak 
Against  such  rays  as  touch  the  snow-crowned 

peak. 

0  far-off  Love !  who  knoweth  naught  of  love 

of  mine, 

1  drink  thy  spirit's  strength 

As  those  who,  faint,  drink  wine. 


INSPIRA  TION.  93 

And  if  some  fragrance  blows 

Where  bleak  and   bare   the  path   lies   toward 

the  sea, 
And   brings    me    back   the   breath   of  a   lost 

Araby, 
It  blows  from  off  some   dead,  pressed   flower 

of  memory ; 

From  out  some  spiced  silence, 
Where  I  can  dream  of  thee. 


CLOISTER  SHADOWS. 

(A    MOONLIGHT    MONOCHROME.) 

ON  nights  when  the  moon  came  out 

And  hung,  a  full,  round  disk, 

Above  the  cloister  tower, 

And  turned  to  phantom  silver-gray 

The  ether  sea  above, 

And  seemed  to  draw  men's  souls 

Beyond  the  sphere  of  self 

To  some  high  plane  of  love ; 

Seeming  to  touch,  with  soft,  strange  thrill, 

The  mortal  with  the  immortal  near: 

On  nights  like  this, 

The  air  all  hushed  to  still; 
94 


CLOISTER  SHADOWS.  95 

The  leaves  their  breath  withheld 
Under  the  moon's  white  kiss ; 
'Twas  said  a  form  came  out 
And  paced  the  cloister-shadowed  walk. 

And  none  could  tell 

Whether  the  form  were  flesh  or  spirit, 

Human  or  divine. 

So  firm  its  tread, 

Such  manly  shape  and  mien, 

Some  scarce  could  think,  I  ween, 

But  this  were  mortal  man. 

Pondering,   it   walked    across    the    moonlight 

silhouettes 

Of  tower  and  spire  and  rigid  cross  of  Rome ; 
Paced  ponderingly,  as  bent  on   spirit-truth  to 

scan; 


96  CLOISTER  SHADOWS. 

Something,  perchance, 
Which  only  half  elusive  seemed  to  him, 
Though    hid   beyond   all    glimpse    from    day 
light's  daily  man. 

Then  something  from  out   the  shadows   deep 

Would  creep ; 

Another  form ;  though  fainter  it  would  seem, 

As  fragile  as  some  wreck  of  hope 

Or  wraith  of  perished  dream. 

None  doubted  this  a  phantom, 
Whether  of  living  or  of  dead. 
Perchance  'twas  but  a  thought  in  form 
That  walked  behind  him 
Through    the     patterns     fair    of    moon     and 
shade ; 


CLOISTER  SHADOWS.  97 

That  turned  when  he  turned, 

And  faithfully  followed. 

A  thought  in  form,  perchance; 

The  astral  of  some  flesh-housed  soul. 

Her  eyes  held  homage  for  the   figure  pacing 

there 

With  firm  and  stately  tread  before, 
Unconscious  but  of  moon  and  shadows   fair, 
Nor  dreaming  he  of  steps  by  his  steps  led, 
Of  soul  on  worship  fed, 
That  turned  not  to  some  far,  fair  star, 
But  found  in  him  its  avatar. 

And   month   by  month,  when  the    moon  was 

full 

And  sky  swept  clear  of  cloud 
In  all  the  interspace  between  the  silver  island 


98  CLOISTER  SHADOWS. 

And  the  low,  shadowing  cloister  tower; 

Month  by  month,  when  the  moon  was  full, 

The  legend  tells, 

The  figures  glided  up  and  down 

Beneath  the  dim,  old  cloister  wall; 

The    one,  unnoticed,  following  like  a  prayer; 

The  other,  pacing  there, 

Held  by  some  charm 

That  only  on  a  spirit-height  may  fall. 

Stately  and  slow,  in  the  weird,  bewitching  night, 

The  figures  passed 

Along    the     rough-edged     shadow     of     the 

parapet ; 

Gleamed  lustrous  fair  and  white 
In  the  patches  of  pale  light  ; 
Then,  through  the  shade-thrown   profile  of  a 

tower  or  spire, 


CLOISTER  SHADOWS.  99 

Up  to  the  broad-paved  steps; 
He,  turning  at  the  shadow  of  the  cross, 
Sometimes  his   eyes  a  moment  on  the  silver- 
poplar  there ; — 

Strong  eyes,  and  clear,  that  rested  tenderly 
Upon  the  quivering  leaves 
Twice  silvered  on  such  nights  as  these; 
Twice  happy  leaves,  to  hold  affinity 
For  eyes  like  his. 
Bride  of  his  soul,  it  seemed, 
Might  be  such  night, 
So  silver-white. 

And    she    who,    still    and    mist-like,    walked 

behind, 

(As  pure  as  lily  breath  blown  on  the  wind 
Seemed  all  her  soul, 


100  CLOISTER  SHADOWS. 

Self-lost  in  thought  of  him,) — 

She  also  saw  the  quivering  moonlit  leaves, 

But  scarce  remembered  she  had   loved  them 

long  before, 

Loving  them  now  athrough  his  love ; 
Seeing  them  through  his  sight,  his  eyes; 
Through   soul   of  his    feeling   the   pathos    of 

their  whispered  sighs. 
Once,  they  were  sweet  to  her; 
But   sacred,  now,  as  some  high  thing  above, 
For   he   had    looked    on    them  with    eyes    of 

love. 

And  he  so  loved  this  cloister-shadowed  place, 
When    silver-clear    above    spread    the    broad, 

moonlit  space, 

She  all  forgot  how  she  had  cared  to  trace, 
In  days  of  earliest  past, 


CLOISTER  SHADOWS.  IOI 

Shadows    moon-chiselled    on    the     stone     or 

grass ;      - 

For  now  a  deeper,  purer  meaning  stole, 
(Through  him,) 
From  light  and  shadow,  on  her  soul. 

And  wraith-like,  pale,  and  still, 

She  could  but  follow  where 

His  steps  so  loved  to  linger;  there, 

Where  some  far  spirit-height 

Seemed  all  the  air  to  enthrill. 

Unseen,  unknown,  she  yet  must  follow  there, 

And  clasp  all  brave  and  still 

Her  grim  but  white  despair ; 

So,  leaving   all,  through    lights   and   shadows 

dim, 
If  only  as  a  wraith,  to  follow  him : 


IO2  CLOISTER  SHADOWS. 

To  look  upon  the  white  light  on  his  brow; 
To   catch   the    glow,  strong,   soul-touched,  of 

his  eye, 

Such  as  dwells  not  in  eyes  of  other  men  ; 
And  feel  the  fetter, 
Mystic,   yet    divinely    sweet    as    silver-linked 

moonbeam, 

Still  bind  her  to  him,  even    through  despair ; 
Touching    her    shadowed    life    with    just    a 

dream. 


TIME. 

How  few  the  hours  that  wear  the  deep  car 
mine, 

Or  hold   the  rich   bouquet  of  rose-red  wine  ! 

Yet  through  the  dull,  pale  gray  of  every 
day 

Some  thread  of  purpose  strong  and  true 
must  twine. 


103 


UNCONQUERED. 

THE  conqueror  rode  along  the  line 

Drawn  up  from  the  conquered  ranks, 

And    each    knee    knelt    on    the   blood-stained 

floor, 

As  the  monarch  rode  before; 
Till  he  stopped  in  surprise  at  a  slender  maid, 
Who  stood  with  proudly  raised  head. 
"Thou  wilt   bow  to    me?"    he    half  gallantly 

said. 

"  I  bow  not  down  to  power,"  said  she, 
That  little  maid  of  Thessaly, 
"  I  kneel  alone  to  Love ; 

And  love  is  but  love  when  just  and  true ; 
104 


UNCONQUERED.  IO$ 

As  to  all,  the  skies  are  free  and  blue." 

"  Strike  her  down !"  cried  the  guard  behind, 

Dashing  forward  with  his  lance. 

But    the    maid    drew    her   head    in    queenly 

pride, 

And  turned  an  unfaltering  glance 
Upon  the  wrath-wrought  warrior's  face, 
Till  his  own  eyes  fell  with  a   softened   grace. 
"  Strike  me,"  she  said,  "  I  am  not  afraid." 
"  Carest  thou  not   for  thy  young  life,  maid  ?" 
"  But  life,  to  me,  would  be  no  dower 
Apart  from  love,  and  crushed  by  power." 
"  Forsooth,  I  like  thy  heart  of  steel, 
But  when  thou  prayest,  thou  must  kneel. 
There  is  a  power,  by  your  dark  eye 
I    swear !    to    make    you    kneel    before    you 

die." 


1 06  UNCONQ  UERED. 

A  light    like    warmth   of  sunshine   filled   her 

face: 
"  God  were  not  God,  were  his  heart  less  than 

grace. 

Not  to  power  of  earth,  or  power  above, 
Could  I  kneel  me  down,  except  to  Love. 
A  God  asks  not  surrender  to  his  might ; 
Should  such  a  power  slay,  a  higher 
Would    lift    me    from    the    ashes    to    Love's 

height." 

The  knight  forgot  his  ire, 
And  rode  away, 
As  he  had  caught  a  glimpse 
Of  some  sun-breaking  day. 


SERENADE. 

DROP  deeper,  night! 
Draw  closer  thy  dusky  veil  around; 

Shut  out  the  light! 

And  silence  all  daylight's  restless  sound : 
So  better  I  can  whisper  soft  wooings   to  my 

love, 

Thy  darkling  deeps  encircling,  thy  silver  stars 
above. 

The  silent  stars 

Are  burning  fair  tapers  to  the  night, 
And  gallant  Mars, 

Full  valiant,  comes  out  in  armor  bright; 
107 


108  SERENADE. 

Hear   scented    sighs    of  pine-trees    yield    low 

notes  to  the  breeze, 
Like    echo    from    some    Lorelei,    far   out    on 

silver  seas. 

The  whippoorwill, 
Soft  calling  down  in  the  deepening  grove, 

With  tender  thrill 

His  symphony  will  croon   to  answering  love. 
Or  if  thy  heart,  all   shyly,  hold  answer  from 

thy  tongue, 

Thy   moonlit    eyes  will   whisper   what  words 
could  ne'er  have  sung. 

Come  closer,  heart ! 

Come  closer,  rest  on  this  heart  of  mine ; 
Come,  ne'er  to  part  ! 


SERENADE.  IOO, 

Thy  presence  will  bring  me  life  divine. 
Come  to  me  in  the   night-time,  come  to   me 

in  the  day; 
My   sun   and   moon,  my  star,   my  love, — the 

LIGHT  to  me  alway. 


10 


LOVE'S   OATH. 

LOVE  thee?     Thus  I  swear  it, — 

Though  the  stars  should  crumble  down, 
My  love  would  bud  and  blossom, 

And  wreathe  thee  with  its  crown. 
Though  winds  should  drop  their  music, 

Death,  waves  of  absence  roll, 
A  strand  of  memory  twined  with  thee 

Would  blossom  on  my  soul. 


SONG  SECRET. 

I'LL  whisper  to  thee 

A  secret  from  me, 
O  beautiful,  silent  moon ! 

On  the  ocean  afloat 

Soft  saileth  a  boat — 
My  heart  beateth  true  in  tune; 

Sweet  moon, 
My  heart  beateth  true  in  tune. 

Oh,  silver  the  sea, 
Oh,  light  him  to  me, 
Shine  faithful,  but  still,  sweet  moon ; 
My  heart's  tender  stress 

No  other  must  guess; 
in 


112  SONG  SECRET. 

We'll  whisper  in  mystic  rune, 

Sweet  moon, 
We'll  whisper  in  mystic  rune. 

When  I  whisper,  "  Tis  he, 
Fast  sailing  to  me," 

The  story  is  there,  sweet  moon ; 
For  names  you  don't  care, 
And  need  the  world  share 

In  secrets  of  ours,  still  moon, 
Sweet  moon? 

In  secrets  of  ours,  sweet  moon? 


TO   THE   NIGHT. 

BURN  me  a  jewel, 

Flash  me  a  gem, 
Light  me  a  torch 

On  thy  high  diadem. 

Days  have  grown  dreary, 

Life  but  a  sigh; 
Love  lies  awounded, 

Praying  to  die. 

Earth's  joys  are  paling, 

So  fade  the  day! 
Night,  let  my  soul 

On  thy  wings  soar  away. 

113  10* 


114  TO    THE  NIGHT. 

Light  me  with  starlight, 

Lead  me  afar, 
Let  my  soul  touch  the  peace 

Of  some  still,  silver  star. 

So  let  my  astral 
Wander  with  thee; 

So  let  my  heart 

From  the  old  life  be  free. 

So  may  nepenthe 
Dull  the  old  pain ; 

So  may  some  new  hope 
Flame  up  again. 

Cool  blows  thy  breathing, 
"  Death  to  all  wrong ;" 

This  is  the  note,  Night, 
I  hear  in  thy  song. 


TO    THE  NIGHT.  115 

Brave  are  the  reaches 

Where  thy  fires  burn; 
"  Life-essence  eternal" 

The  light  that  I  learn. 

My  brain  is  aweary, 

My  fainting  heart  sore, 
Hope,  prostrate,  lies  wailing 

Some  sad  nevermore : 

Night,  burn  me  a  jewel, 

Flash  me  a  gem, 
Light  me  some  torch 

On  the  day's  fading  hem. 

THE  END. 


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3500  Night  etchings 

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